


Sneaking Around

by RoseAlenko



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jonerys, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 13:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko
Summary: Jon and Dany getting frisky in his childhood room at Winterfell, and Dany teasing him relentlessly about what she finds there.





	Sneaking Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyTarg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTarg/gifts).



> **Hi guys! This was a request from my good friend who wanted some teasing, lighthearted Jonerys. Ask and you shall receive ^.^**
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> **Disclaimer: This is 100% pure, triple-filtered crack. As in, I know this is ridiculous haha. Enjoy!**

When they finally arrive at the room Dany urges Jon in ahead of her, biting her lip with anticipation. All night she has wanted to get him alone, and they’ve been at their cups for hours waiting for the others to find their beds. 

Inside, she leans back against the heavy wooden door until she hears it shut with a thud. Jon turns to face her, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks her up and down. Dany’s long hair hangs loose about her shoulders, shining with moisture from the storm that nearly caught them in the yard. Her lips are stained crimson by the Dornish vintage she’d been enjoying over dinner and her fine silk dress nearly matches, the rich burgundy fabric cut to flatter her figure. The way Jon is raking his eyes over her makes her feel bold and alluring, and she likes it.

“Am I _really_ the first girl you’ve ever brought to your room, Jon?” she teases, her lilac eyes twinkling mirthfully.

“Yes,” he replies shortly. Dany can see his cheeks color slightly at the question. That doesn’t deter her.

“What?” she demands, feigning shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “How can that be? I would have thought that every girl north of The Neck would be swooning over the mysterious young Jon Snow.”

“Well, they didn’t,” he insists with a disapproving scowl. “And besides, who do you think I am? I’m Ned Stark’s son. I couldn’t exactly slip girls to my rooms unnoticed in the middle of Winterfell.”

“You mean like you just did?” Dany asks, failing to suppress a snort of laughter.

“What? No. This is … This is _different_.”

“So you’re saying if you _could_ have gotten away with sneaking girls up here all the time, then you would have?” She arches a brow at him, relishing the way Jon immediately bristles at the suggestion. He is so easy to rile, so unfailingly stern and disciplined. In a word, he is _different_ —different from the other men she has been with.  At first Dany had thought him uptight, but she has come to know Jon and to understand that he lives by his own set of principles and adheres to them firmly. She loves that about him.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he mutters. “I wouldn’t have done that because it wouldn’t have been right, using those girls.”

“You’re right,” Dany agrees. “From what I’ve heard of him, you certainly _are_ the honorable Ned Stark’s son.”

Jon nods, ignoring her sarcasm. “I take it seriously. You know, being with a woman,” he explains, looking awkwardly about the room. It is, Dany knows, the same room that Jon stayed in as a boy. A lot has happened since then but it is still intact, a simple space dominated by a small, single bed made of oak. Layers of plush-looking furs cover the mattress, and even more are strewn about the floor—rugs to protect bare feet from the cold. In the grate a fire burns low, set by the servants that morning and long-forgotten now. A candelabra throws flickering light from a writing desk next to the window, where the pattering sound of sleet from outside gets in.

“So I’m the first girl you’ve brought in here,” Dany repeats, grinning. “I must be special.”

“Aye. You are,” Jon says gruffly, stepping closer to her. Their chests are nearly touching when his eyes drop to meet hers, and goosebumps erupt over her skin under his gaze. Dany’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips as she looks up at Jon’s own. She knows just how soft they feel, how they leave a trail of fire over her flesh when he kisses her.

She reaches up and links her hands behind Jon’s neck, urging his face toward hers and straining to match his height. Jon complies willingly, dipping his head and pressing his lips to hers. His familiar hands slide down her sides, gripping her hips to pull her greedily closer. She sighs into his mouth, pressing her body against him until she can feel the thrum of his heartbeat at her chest. When her mouth opens to him, Jon’s tongue is a shot of heat against her own that renders her weak and pliant in his arms. He tastes of ale and rain, and Dany can think of nothing sweeter.

He wanders away from her mouth, his beard scratching at her cheek as he kisses down to her neck, his tongue sliding against her pulse point. When he closes his lips and sucks there, there’s an answering pulse between her thighs, and suddenly Dany can’t form the words to taunt Jon anymore.

“Bed,” she pants at his ear, and he spins them around, guiding Dany backward across the room. But before they can reach their destination, her boot heel catches on an uneven board in the floor and she stumbles backward, her arms slipping from Jon’s shoulders.

His reflexes are too quick to let her fall, and Jon catches her by the forearms before she can go down, yanking her back on her feet with an amused smirk. “How very regal of you, Your Grace. Are you alright?” he asks, reaching a gloved hand to brush the tousled hair from her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Dany shrugs, a bit embarrassed. “Something on this floor,” she says thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the ground around their feet.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Jon announces dismissively, taking Dany by the hand and making his way to the bed once again.

“No,” Dany protests, shaking her hand free, still searching the ground with interest. “There was a sound when I tripped too. Something shifted in the floor.”

“You’re hearing things. You were just clumsy,” Jon argues.

Dany narrows her eyes at him curiously.  “I’m not.”

An explanation occurs to her and she drops unceremoniously to her knees, pushing one of the fur rugs aside to reveal a loose board. It isn’t nailed in and its once-snug fit between the other planks has deteriorated with time and use.

“Don’t—” Jon entreats her.

Dany ignores him, hesitantly pressing one end of the board so that the other rises in a seesaw motion.

“It’s just as I thought,” she breathes, lifting the plank away and looking with wonder at a hidden compartment housed beneath the wood. It’s a long, rectangular opening, and though it’s too dark for details, Dany can see contents hidden inside.

“Gods, Daenerys, please just come away from there,” Jon groans, and for a moment she falters, setting the board aside and turning to him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s … ”

“It’s _what_?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jon finishes at last, sealing his fate.

“Oh, well in that case,” Dany says gleefully, turning back to the hole in the floor. “Let’s have a look.”

She scrambles to her feet, hurrying to fetch the candelabra from the nearby desk. The candles have burned low, running down the burnished silver of the holders, but Dany is heedless of the hot wax, thrilled at her discovery.

Jon unstraps his sword belt and drops it to the ground with a clunk before sitting on the bed, watching her with helpless resignation.

“Oh, stop sulking,” she encourages him, kneeling beside the secret compartment and holding the candles over it for light. Inside the small, dusty space Dany sees a couple of folded up pieces of parchment, an incredibly small and thin sword, and some other items that are obscured by the faint light.

“What have we here?” She lifts out the little sword, holding it up to the candlelight with a delighted smile. “Jon. _Jon!_ Was this yours?”

Dany turns to see him with a hand hiding his reddening face. He separates two fingers to peek through. “Yes. Mikken made it for me when I was a boy. My first.”

“It’s … it’s so small! My, my, Jon, you’ve definitely upgraded,” Dany giggles, nodding toward Longclaw on the floor at his feet.

“Yes, yes. Okay, you’ve had your fun,” he complains, collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. “Can’t you put that away now. I didn’t bring you here to inspect my things.”

“Really?” Dany asks, the picture of innocence. “Well, tell me. What _did_ you bring me here to do?” She glances over to see Jon fidgeting uncomfortably on the furs.

“I, um. I …”

“As I thought,” Dany concludes, setting the sword back inside and retrieving another item from the hole. She holds up a piece of parchment and unfolds it carefully. On the paper is a crudely drawn man in what she suspects is a knight’s armor. There’s a sigil on his chest, and squinting, she realizes that it’s a dragon. The man wields a sword and shield, a serious expression rendered on his face with sketchy lines. The whole thing is drawn with all the haphazard care of a child’s hand, and Dany can feel a tender smile warming her to the core at the thought of a Jon as a very young boy, all messy black curls and childhood wonder, busily drawing away at his little writing desk.

“Jon,” she calls, turning to him with shining eyes. He sits up begrudgingly in the bed and looks her way.

“Yes?”

“You drew this didn’t you?” She brandishes the drawing at him, beaming.

He nods.

“It’s … so sweet. Jon, you’re _adorable_ ,” Dany gushes, standing and walking over to sit next to him on the bed.

“I’m not _adorable,_ ” Jon protests fiercely. “I’m a grown man, Daenerys. Please, I—”

“Oh!” she exclaims, turning to the backside of the parchment. In a shaky squiggle little Jon had written, “Daron Targaren. The Yung Dragon.”

“Jon, your hero was Daeron I, who conquered Dorne? The Young Dragon! Does that mean,” she wonders aloud, setting the drawing aside, “That you’ve had a thing for Targaryens all this time?” She flashes Jon a salacious grin, and even in his frustration she can see the beginning of a smile crinkle the corners of his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk.

“I guess I have,” Jon relents, scooting closer to her on the bed. He removes his gloves, pulling them off at the fingertips and laying them aside. He raises his right hand to cup Dany’s cheek, and she leans fondly into his touch. Her heart swells with contentment that she hasn’t known since her own childhood, a safety and joy that she often feared was lost to her forever. Now, she can chase this feeling only with Jon. “Are you really so interested in all this? What I did as a lad?” he asks softly.

“Of course I am,” she answers, moving her own hand to cover Jon’s against her face.

He exhales quietly and leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. She is touched by the intimate act from the usually resigned Jon, but his proximity has the same effect on her as always, and she can feel her blood racing, the persistent desire to close the distance between them nagging at her again.

She knows Jon feels it too when he drags his hand down her neck, his fingertips ghosting over her clavicle before he stops at her chest. Even through the fabric of her gown, his thumb brushes torturously against the tip of her breast and Dany’s desperate to be rid of their clothes. She tilts her face to kiss him again, their lips drawn together instinctively, and without breaking away she pushes the cloak from his back, worries at the buttons up the front of his doublet.

Jon responds in kind, his arms snaking around her to work the fastenings on the back of her dress, both of them kicking idly to get their boots off. “You and your layers,” she complains, smiling against his mouth. Jon just chuckles at her, finally peeling his way out of the last of his clothes before grabbing Dany at the waist and lifting her all the way upon the bed.

It’s cramped, only built for one; but Dany doesn’t mind at all. The tiny bed is cozy as she nestles into the furs, Jon poised over her, a warm coverlet thrown over them both to keep out the chill of the chamber. She knows what would usually come next, that Jon is invariably willing and able to please her.

She has spent dozens of nights in his arms, tucked away in her cabin on the ship that brought them north, entwined together in her tent on their journey by land, and now in every hidden nook and cranny that Winterfell has to offer. For weeks she muffled her cries into pillows to keep their dalliance a secret. Every time, Jon kisses his way eagerly down her body, his mouth and fingers sending her over the edge again and again, reeling with heady bliss.

But she is in no hurry for all of that tonight, wanting nothing more than to make her time with Jon last as long as possible. She wants simply to be with him, to relax and pretend, just for a little while, that they aren’t both living in an apocalyptic nightmare. They almost never have the opportunity to act like regular people, to talk and flirt and be silly like they have this evening.

So she raises her eyes to Jon’s with a sly wink and sneaks her hand up between them, her fingers quickly confirming that he is more than ready for her. “Oh, Jon!” she gasps dramatically, “You _are_ a man grown after all!” She barely manages to get all the words out before exploding into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Jon drops his head on the pillow beside her with an exasperated sigh. “Will you keep it down?!”

“Why would I do that?” Dany asks loudly, raising her eyebrows at him in mock confusion.

“Do you want the whole damned castle to hear us?” he hisses.

“You’re right,” she concedes, almost inaudibly. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet!” She lifts her head, kissing at Jon’s neck with exaggerated contrition, wrapping her arms around him.

Wordlessly he braces himself over her on one arm, moving the other between them, his hand finding its way between her legs. He touches her there the way he knows she likes, and even this is enough to get her hot and flustered, sweat breaking out along her brow.

But she wants more, wants the fullness of him inside her, the connection that comes only when their bodies move together in that urgent rhythm. So she trails her fingers along the shifting muscles of his back, tracing lovingly around every scar, her hands guiding him down as she opens herself to him readily.

Jon follows her lead, his eyes burning with passion that sears the air between them. He coaxes her hands up over her head and pins her wrists in place, watching her as he slides gently inside. Dany feels her tensions ebb away with every roll of his hips, every quiet, involuntary sound that escapes his sweet lips. It’s comforting and right, being with him this way, and she knows that it’s love. But it’s also sinfully good, every nerve in her body hypersensitive to his touch, her muscles quaking with pleasure as she arches shamelessly against him, hooking a leg around his waist.

Dany has loved another before, and she has desired others; but never have the two been harmoniously combined like they are with Jon. It’s what makes their lovemaking perfect, leaving her in a stupor of pure sensation. She knows it well, feels herself climbing the peak that will have her coming undone beneath him once again.

But then she is seized with an insolent, absolutely wicked idea, and somehow Dany fights through the fog of her building release to make one, last jest.

“Oh, gods, Jon, YES! _Yeeesss_ ,” she wails suddenly at the top of her voice. He freezes in surprise, the sound ringing out against the stone walls and echoing through the room. She knows that it will likely carry even further than that. Both of them listen apprehensively to the silence of Winterfell, broken only by the still-falling precipitation outside, the puffs of their mingling breath in the air.

She gazes sheepishly up at his startled face, and for a moment Dany is anxious, thinking that he might actually be cross. Even though it’s obvious to _her_ that everyone already knows about them, Jon might still labor under the delusion that they’re hiding their relationship well, and believe that she has just spoiled it all.  

But then his kind, brown eyes find her. “You little fool,” he scolds with a shake of his head, and he laughs, really laughs from deep in his gut, shaking them both. Her chest tightens to see him so happy, a rarity that always lifts her own spirits. She laughs with him, letting the sound and the warmth of his skin on hers drive her fears away.

“Will you ever cease teasing me, Dany?” Jon asks her fondly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Dany sighs, utterly content in his embrace, in his home, in his heart. “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading. Drop me a comment for thoughts, ideas, or feedback :)**


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